I like the shores of America

At least that is where America’s history is said to have begun — in the early 1500s. Everything before that is called Archaeology or Anthropology, all through the “New World”. But I digress, this is meant to be a less controversial commentary than one dealing with atrocities committed in our lands.

We are in New England, Cape Cod to be exact, for a week with our son and his family, and getting to know a new grandson.

Cape Cod is America’s Mayaro, the beach fronts we escape to with our families during August, but a place which I always thought was a playground for their rich and famous. We were pleased to find that there is plenty of space for relatively ordinary folk like us.

The larger area was, and maybe still is, one of the playgrounds of the Kennedy Clan, and we were told that Barrack and Michelle are in the wider area, but so far they have not dropped by to check out the wife’s “Sweet hand” and get a little Trini food.

The homes in our neighbourhood are mostly little one-storey buildings, with grey wood-shingled walls and roofs, and brick chimneys attached. Windows and doors are generally white, but every now and then some rebel has gone with colours instead. The Stars and Stripes fly on almost every home.

There are no walls or fences to the fronts of the homes, and no burglar bars on the windows.

The streets are clean and quiet, no dogs rush you when you walk by, and no loud speeding cars rush through the neighbourhood.

Our son’s in-laws have been coming here for summers as long as most of us have been going to Mayaro for August holidays, so we get to know the place quickly.

The house we are in is just ten minutes walk from the beach, across an old bridge spanning a tidal estuary.

The beaches are different though. We learned this coming through Immigration at JFK.

We were processed by a pleasant young man, who hailed from Dominica — a neighbour! You know how these officers chat pleasantly about your plans while in the USA — I always feel they are checking you — in smart as we say. When we told him we were here for a beach holiday, he confided “there are no real beaches here”! No offence, America, from him, or from us. But he is right.

His beaches, our beaches, are different, it’s a Caribbean thing! There are no trees backing these beaches, no hills or streams, just rolling sand dunes. So the beaches are hot and literally covered with tents and umbrellas to provide any shade needed. But similar to us, this is a “cooler” society, so cold beer — no Carib — is close at hand.

Some are very flat, and when the tide is out the sea is like two hundred yards away. A little bit like Erin and Puerto Grande on our South Coast. But when the tide starts to come in you can watch it flow across the sand as people pack up their umbrellas and coolers and retreat to the dunes. You plan visits to these beaches by checking the tidal tables.

They do not eat shark and bake here, actually the reverse is true! Large billboards with huge openjawed Great White Sharks displaying their teeth warn you of this possibility. But the rest of the sea food is great, Cape Cod being famous for its variety of excellent marine cuisine. Most people are therefore overweight, and I seem to be joining them — I will need many walks in the forest upon my return.

One curiosity I note, an anomaly really, is the lack of interest among everyone I meet for the Trump/Hillary Circus. We Trinis are becoming so absorbed in our attention to CNN and other networks that we post memes and get vexed with each other, while our American cousins are steupsing at all of that. Such is the burden of mimicry we bear, that we go beyond the people who who should be affected by whatever happens in that circus.

For those of you still reading this, I am home today, coming in with a Cape Cod suntan and a sated appetite for sea food, and lovely memories for the new shores upon which I walked. Back now to the shores I truly love, no matter which other shores I walk.

We are far from perfect, but here is where I fit. For while “I like the shores of America”, and the hospitality of the family into which our son married, I belong on Caribbean Shores, Trinbago Shores.

And for any who think they recognised the title of this piece, yes, it comes f r o m “Ame r - ica”, the s o n g f r o m West Side Story.